Half Way There
by WinterRain242
Summary: 'I've been sat here now for 4 hours' she says 'waiting for you to get here'. A multichip Fic in which Molly's just home from her 3rd tour, sat waiting for Charles to pick her up at Swindon service station.
1. Chapter 1

She's been waiting for 2 hours now. The time sliding past her at the speed she reckons glaciers move- slow and deliberate. '0.3 km a year' Sam had said, his sticky fingers clasping her warm ones as she walked him home 6 months previously. A jabbering bundle of energy- mind enchanted by the huge blocks of ice his teacher had shown him in school. She certainly feels cold- heavy handed air conditioning whipping through her combats with no trouble.

She shifts, legs feeling the familiar weight of her kit bag. The thick material stretched taught with all her worldly possessions, her kit, her toiletries, his letters. It's stuffed under one of the sticky tables, jammed into her leg to keep it out of the way of the couple sitting nearby. Because lord knows they had to sit 2 seats away from her when 20 other tables were free. Her leg jolts against the table leg, mirroring her fingers as they tear through a pile of those crappy white napkins- Forcing them into strips.

Letting out a small huff of air she picks up her phone- fingers sliding across the cracked surface to flash up the lock screen. A picture of her and a friend grins back, dazzling drunk smiles and arms wrapped round each other- taken on defrag in Cyprus. She fights away the clawing truth. That she changed her lock screen a mere hour ago. Her aching skull suddenly sick of seeing the picture of Charles and Sam which had been there before. His thin face creased into laughter as Sam splashes him on the beach- silver droplets arching in a perfect semicircle to land on Charles's tanned chest. It had felt the right thing to do, an attempt to even the score- but now it just feels pathetic, the actions of a stroppy teenager.

Flicking across the screen with quick finger swipes, her eyes narrow as she sees there are still no messages from him- Save the one sent at 9 this morning. 'See you later Dawsey'- because Charles has always been one for stating the obvious. She starts to ring him again; frustration muddling with common sense in her desperation to work out what's going on, what the hell he's been doing for the past 2 hours. It connects straight through to answer machine and she lets out a swear word before she can even stop herself; censor her words like she has to do for Sam.

'Fuck' it's louder than she anticipated and the couple nearby turn pointedly, the women's lips pursued as if she just eaten a lemon, instead of the huge slab of coffee and walnut cake Molly can see on the plate in front of her. She looks away, imagining the snigger that Charles would let out if he was here with her now- leaning in to whisper something stupid like 'Busted Dawes' in that slow and sensual voice she can recreate so effortlessly in her own head. The phone lets out a high pitched bleep and she's reminded why she's still here, forced to sit next to 2 grumpy sods in Swindon motorway services as she talks to his iPhone.

' _Hey- it's Molly'_ she starts. _'Look. I've rung you a good 5 times now and it's getting on to 4 o'clock. I don't know if you've forgotten about me'_ She forces a laugh at this point, because really it's almost a joke if he's forgotten to come and get her after a 6 month tour (almost but not quite as she's the punchline) _'but I'm getting just a tiny bit annoyed now. So if you could ring me back that would be great'_

She presses the red button, checking the phone again for messages before slamming it into her combat pockets- Her spare pair of bandage dressing scissors clinking against the screen as she does so. Glancing up she notices one of the employees' picking her way over to her and her hand loops into the handle of her rucksack, ready to move. She knows she's drastically overstayed her welcome, her own empty mug the only evidence that she actually has any right to remain sitting. Tepid brown liquid lurking in a porcelain white cup- finished hours before. She draws nearer and Molly can see hot steam rising from a mug balanced on the battered black tray. Her eyes narrow, confused- but the girl is already drawing up to her table and smiling down at her.

'Coffee for you' the girl says, tactfully placing the mug away from the considerable pile of mauled napkins. The impact of placing it causing a few millimetres of hot liquid to slop over the edge onto the saucer.

'Oh but I didn't-'

'It's on the house' the girl interrupts smoothly, 'least we could do'

For a millisecond she is confused, eyes narrowing as she wonders at the rationale behind this gesture. Until shifting her head she catches sight of herself in one of the tactfully placed mirrors- wide brown eyes and combats stare back. She fiddles awkwardly with her sleeves- hands pulling the well-known fabric further over her thin wrists as if hoping to pluck the garments off her slim frame.

'Thanks' she replies, forcing a smile across her worried expression for the briefest of instances. 'I promise I'll be out of your hair soon'

'S'alright' the girl shrugs and Molly notices that her name is 'JJ'- letters just visible on her worn name badge. 'It's not as if it's busy'

They both glance round in unison then, eyes trailing over the half empty tables and abandoned chairs- some still cluttered with cups and teapots.

'It's my….. Friend' she says, the correct prefix catching in her throat and refusing to form. 'He said he'd pick me up.'

JJ nods, moving to transfer a rogue mug from a neighbouring table onto her now empty tray.

'Bet you wish you'd never asked now' the young girl says, smiling in sympathy. Molly's stomach squirms in guilt as she nods in agreement but she ignores it- mind refusing to entertain sympathetic thoughts of Charles.

'Apparently there's a hold up at the junction before us' JJ continues, nodding towards one of the many TV screens displaying the traffic for the local area. Molly's stomach sinks as she spots a multitude of red traffic warnings clustered on the route Charles will be taking. Fatigue finally begins to crash over. Eyelids turning heavy as out of the corner of her eye she watches JJ pick up the scrumpled muffin wrappers from the next door table, Leftovers from 2 lads that had been in earlier

'Do you have far to go?' she asks, more out of politeness than interest Molly thinks but she's glad of the opportunity to talk to someone.

'Bath' she says, 'I think '

'You think?' JJ asks and suddenly Molly isn't sure why she added that part in. Because of course she is going to go home with Charles to their flat- quite why her treacherous mind is trying to unravel that decision is anyone's guess, her heart flutters strangely at the thought.

'Bath' she confirms, 'I'm going home to Bath' Though it feels like its herself she's trying to convince rather than the girl stood in front of her.

'Lovely' she smiles back at Molly, 'Apparently it's really pretty there'

'I always thought it was a bit shit' she admits, invoking that familiar pull she always gets when she thinks of him, 'but it's pretty bloody nice'

A phone begins to ring and she jumps visibly but it's not her own. Her mobile lying dormant in her combats- a dead weight, as useful to her as her rifle would be for stirring her steaming coffee. Thankfully JJ is looking back to the cash desk from where the noise is emanating.

'Better get that' she says, picking up her now loaded tray before she hurries away.

'Thanks again' Molly mummers 'for the coffee'

* * *

The lights have dimmed- a gradual acceptance of the darkness that is drawing up outside. Streetlights giving the carpark that plastic orange glow that reminds her of East London. A world away from the soaring landscapes of Afghan.

The coffee from the hour before is half finished in front of her- tomb cold in its white mug. She feels guilty as it was a gift and she didn't manage to finish it, but if she's honest she couldn't manage anymore. The hot liquid had dragged down her throat- eyes fixed on that stupid phone as the minutes ticked their way past 6. The stroppy couple have gone and an entirely new set of customers have taken their place- this time sat a respectful difference from her so she immediately likes them more. Though they are not entirely indifferent, she's noticed that the young son keeps stealing glances at her over the top of his I-pad.

'That ladies in the army' she hears the mum say, voice low but audible in the hush. 'She's very-'

But she doesn't get to hear what they think of her as her phone begins to vibrate- shaking ceaselessly against the wooden table top as if it's about to explode. She narrows her eyes as she sees the caller ID- eyes flicking to read the time. She lets it ring a few times, her anger refusing to let her shaking fingers function.

'Hey' she snaps, leg beginning to jig in a restless staccato because god dammit his excuse better be good.

'Moll' he says, voice slightly distant because of the hands free. 'How was the flight?' She can hear the smile in his voice as he talks, her face beginning to break into an answering one but she quashes it- eyes taking In the 2 empty coffee cups and torn napkins scattered across the table, the remnants of the last 4 hours.

'Fine' she replies, takes a breath and then continues 'Did you get my voicemails? I'm sat waiting in the services'

'Have you been there long?' he asks and she realises that he hasn't heard any of the 20 she must have left him. Pulse quickening in frustration as she pulls the phone closer to her ear so she can hear him better.

'Yes you bastard' her tone is light, but the implication behind it isn't. 'Been here since 2- Brains dropped me off on his way home'

'Shit. And it's… '

'It's 6.30 now' she finishes for him

'I'm sorry' he murmurs and she has to stop herself melting, because he always known how to draw out the syllables in that word to make her weak- A tactic he's very successfully honed. 'They wouldn't let me go. Training was meant to be over by lunchtime but the fucking idiots couldn't grasp what we were trying to achieve. How hard can it actually be to patrol across a sodding field and answer fire from a pretend ambush?'

'Clearly impossible' she jibes, but he keeps talking.

'They started pissing about after a while- pushing their limits you know? It turned a bit ugly after that'

She could well imagine the scene, a section of new recruits all trying it on with their new Captain- attempting to see just how far they could push it on a Friday afternoon. Blissfully unaware of the fact that he was meant to be meeting his girlfriend at the services after 6 months apart. She winced on their behalf- imagining him as he had sometimes been in Afghanistan. A power house of muscle and anger- words whipping through the air to smack at your feet.

'How many did you make cry?' she asks

'5' he snaps back 'all lads. But they deserved it'

Though he isn't implicitly stating it, she knows that he's on the defensive. He knows that she's never been very good at accepting the hard-line manner he has to take with the recruits. A sticking point on their tour, as to her his harsh words were there to be refuted rather than accepted. It was a dangerous game they used to play- her erring just slightly on the right side of respectful as he shouted the orders.

She bites her lip- censoring her words before she speaks again.

'You okay?'

'Not really' he says letting out a deep sigh. 'We would have been home right now if it wasn't for that massive bunch of Cockwombles. But instead I'm stuck on the outskirts of Salisbury- waiting in a-'

'You've just set off' she explodes. The young boy glancing up from his iPad to stare wide eyed. Family swivelling in unison to gawp at her as she gets pointlessly to her feet before sitting back down.

'I told you. We overran'

'By 6 hours' she exclaims back.

'Do you really think I had any fucking choice in the matter' he growls, voice sending shudders of desire down her spine which anger her further. 'I'm probably facing a disciplinary for the fact I even left at all'

'Charles I can't actually cope with this right now' she says 'I need you to-'

'I'll be there in just over an hour' he interrupts, as he always does when he can sense her getting angry. His attempt to shut down the conversation so she can't start shouting. '1 and a half with the rush hour'

She glances hopelessly up at the TV screen, covered in those red warning lights that she's come to know so well this afternoon.

'It will be longer than that' she says, forcing her voice into calm 'the traffics hideous'

'Fine' he concedes, '1 hour and 45 minutes' A statement which makes her roll her eyes heavenward at his childish addition of 15 minutes to the journey time. His cocksure arrogance starting to grate on her throbbing brain.

'We'll be back in Bath before you know it- I'll text your mum and tell her to push back the party another hour'

'Party' she echoes tonelessly, because really she should of known better than to believe he wouldn't spring this on her at last minute.

'As a welcome home' he says voice dropping in volume as if hoping she might not hear him. 'It was your mum's idea. She's come over for the weekend with your dad and she was desperate to organise something'

'She's staying with us?' she asks, even though she's pretty sure she doesn't want to know the answer to that particular question.

'Yes'

She stays silent.

'I tried to explain that you wouldn't appreciate a massive-'

'Massive?' she echoes- well interrupts. because she knows what Belinda's like when she gets onto an idea. A lifetime of experience causing that cold feeling of dread to drop into her stomach.

'30 people' is his reply and she can imagine him wincing- waiting for the fallout that happens round about now.

'This is a sodding joke' she says, eyes narrowing to slits even though he's not stood in front of her.'I'm sorry but I'm not going to that. There's no effing way'

'Molly-'he starts, but she gets in their first.

'Look I'm shattered. We had a rough flight over. Turbulence and the whole shebang before an hours car journey with Brains and Fingers to get me to Swindon services. I love them both- but not after 6 months together and 50 games of snog, marry, avoid'

She hears him start to laugh but she cuts him off, because although it may sound hilarious to him it really wasn't funny at the time.

'I've been sat here now for 4 hours, waiting for you to get here. So what I need.. is….' She trails off, words formed before she knows what it is she really wants. Silence blaring between them as he waits for her to finish. Weirdly the words don't come and there's that weird fluttering in her heartbeat again as she thinks about him- about them.

'I'll be there as soon as I can' he says 'I'm sorry it's been crap Dawsey- but just wait out for a couple more hours'

'I don't want to wait out' she snaps and it's the first time she's ruined that little catch phrase of theirs.

'Well there's nothing I can do about that' he replies- and she recognises that tone. It's the one he uses with Sam when he's playing up and she instantly resents him for it. 'Jesus Moll, I tried as hard as I could to get away on time but they wouldn't let me go'

'You're a captain' she hears herself say

'That's doesn't mean I can do whatever the fuck I want.' his voice is cold and scornful at her implication 'I think your confusing me with the Chief of general staff'

'Surely they could of let you go' she says 'don't they have a shred of compassion for the fact im coming home?' She hates herself for saying it because it makes her sounds spoilt and that's not what she is. But she's so sick of being reasonable and rational. Calm under pressure after half a year of civilians dying left right and centre in a place that's more hell zone than country.

'Last time I looked you're not draped in a union jack- so I don't think they sodding care'

Her chest tightens painfully at his words which remind her of Smurf. That gaping hole of friendship that's been vacant for over a year now .He senses her silence, realises that's he's taken it one sentence to far and doesn't continue. Stopping himself before he does more damage. It's another indication that they're still getting to grips with each other away from Afghanistan, working out just how far they can push each others humour when they're not on tour.

'I just want to go home' she says, voice pleading, faint traces of her 12 year old self breaking through to the present.

'I know'

'To our house- with no else there'

'I know' he repeats, fractionally louder 'Ditto'

Suddenly she's desperate to have him all to herself. Hot whips of jealousy slamming through her at a rate that borders on ridiculous. The thought of having to share him with a whole heap of family and friends for a whole evening doesn't seem achievable, even with her grit and determination- honed through 3 successful tours. Its been half a year since she's slammed into his arms, breathing in that heart juddering scent that is so unbelievably Charles. The same scent that followed her around in bastion- a clingy ghost that haunted her every move when he was nearby.

'Let's just cancel it' she hears herself say 'I'll call mum myself and tell her'

'What the hell Dawes?' he says and its like he's thrown a giant bucket of ice water over her, pulling her back into reality just by snapping out 4 stupid words. It hurts- because clearly he's not as desperate to see her as she is to see him. His sense of duty, his ingrained training to do the right thing- overriding any desire to be spontaneous. And even though she knows he's right- her protestations are more for show than action, she cares too much about the effort her mother will have put in to let her down at last minute. He could at least of entertained the idea for a bit longer instead of shooting it down in a cloud of smoke.

'I don't like the fuss' she says, mumbling her words like a stroppy 5 year old. The conversation is redundant to her now, she just wants to get him off the phone.

'I tried to say that'

'Yeah well, you should of just cancelled' She replies, pulling the phone away from her ear so his voice diminishes to a light buzzing. It gives her a sense of power- just like changing the lock screen- to not listen to him when he's talking to her. He's blown her off one too many times in this conversation and its starting to hurt.

She presses the phone back against her ear, cracked glass catching on sensitive skin of her earlobe. 'And I don't want...' He trails off 'Are you even listening to me Dawse?'

'No' she replies, before she can stop herself. Her 12 year old self roaring to the surface before she can stop it. She's been in this situation too many times in her life whether its conversations with her dad and detentions with her teachers. Her answer has become automatic, a reflex response to that particular question.

'I thought not' he snaps, 'Your well out of line Private' He doesn't seem to realise that he's disciplining her as if she's back under his command and it angers her- that after all this time he still sees her as one of the lads of 2 section. 'All im doing is trying my bloody hardest to get you home'

'Well try harder' she snaps back, 'I've been afghan for the past 6 months whilst you've been swanning about in Salisbury- playing at guns with your sodding platoon. I deserve better than to be sitting around in some shitty service station, waiting for you to pull out your finger and arrive'

It's only when he inhales deeply that she realises the words have been said out loud. That she's done the thing that she promised herself she would never do and compared each other, a comparison she knows he's been doing internally every day since she's been away.

'Fucking hell Dawes' she hears him murmur, voice trembling across the hands free to her shocked present. 'I'm sorry'

And it's like someone's pressed a switch, because all of a sudden the room begins to swim in front of her eyes, despair crashing through to her brain at those 2 words of his which sound so vulnerable and raw. She bursts into tears, the first that she's let out since this tour began. Huge racking ones that bubble up seemingly out of nowhere to crash down the phone to Charles.

'Im- Im' she tries, breath coming in gasps of air. 'I'm sorry' she stammers. 'God when did this...get so- so out of hand'

She hears him start to say something in reply but she pulls the phone from her ear, slapping it down on the table so she can crash her head into her hands. She feels multiple gazes on her- burning through the thin modesty of her hair. Customers beginning to swivel at the sight of a fully kitted army medic sobbing into her coffee. Liquid hot tears streaming down her face to splatter on the table below. She knows that this anger, this anguish is not all directed at Charles. It's mainly been reserved for herself, packaged away neatly until she can express emotion again and it just so happens that its suddenly spilling out.

She sucks in her breath and she notices JJ staring over at her- hands holding a carton of milk which she's pouring into tea. Blinking quickly she tries to dispel the moisture pooling round her eyes, wiping away the excess with the back of her hand in angry swipes- but more continue to fall. Her skin feels as if its burning red at the attention and she desperately tries to get her breathing back in check- get some control back into her life. Deep down she had always known that coming home would be hard- the tour had been difficult and she had never felt in the right headspace with it all. Though her CO had strongly disagreed when she'd hinted at that- eyes narrowing as he tried to convince that she had done a brilliant job.

The reality was, she had felt inadequate without Charles- smiling reassuringly across at her, telling her she was a 'bloody good medic', that she was fixing the tiny cogs through her small acts of compassion. At times she had found it near impossible to keep going- which didn't and doesn't make sense as she's already been on tour without him and coped just fine. It's a new development and she despises it- hates him for it because she's never needed anyone to justify who she is or what she stands for up until now.

Nothing's changed since the last tour and yet everything has because he's started picking up the pieces in his own life. He's no longer just waiting for her to come back; he has a purpose for himself now- as today has shown. She had been so happy for him, the day he had taken up his commission to continue as a Captain- because if anyone needed to be in those regulation combats it was Charles. Yet it had altered them, changed where they both stood in the relationship and she was still trying to get to grips with her new position. Because even though he says that she is more important to him than the Army- that's never been his style. He can't help himself but put his duty first, the scar on his leg a constant reminder of the day he got it wrong.

She wipes her face again, the fabric itching her blotchy as she tries to get a grip. She needs to sort this now- apologise and then go and find somewhere quiet to sit because people are going to start approaching her soon and asking if she's alright. She lets out a shuddering breath, eyes flicking towards her phone and they freeze. He's already hung up on her. And with that fresh tears begin to fall, a waterfall of emotion sliding down her hot skin as she tries her hardest not to let out the strangled sob that's clawing at her throat.


	2. Chapter 2

_Here is the second section, I plan to do another chapter after this... Thank you for all your lovely reviews and favourites ! Hope this doesn't disappoint..._

* * *

She's locked herself in the toilet. Because really there have been way too many clichés for her to handle today so she might as well collect them all. Irate girlfriend, delayed boyfriend all culminating in the mother of all clichés- a screaming match down the phone. She's been sat here for a good few minutes, thin form huddled on the closed toilet seat as if braced for an emergency landing as the doors surrounding her slam open and closed. Strangely it reminds her of home; the bathroom had always been her place of refuge, chosen on the basis that it was the only room in the house with a lockable door. She can remember leaning against the bath, knees pulled up to her chin, feet resting on the faded blue bath mats as her siblings squabbled and fought outside.

Breathing deeply she opens her eyes. Through her chocolate curls the white walls of the toilet cubicle are just visible- hair sprawled over her face from the impact of lugging her kit into this stall. She reaches up to run a hand over it, realises that the semblance of a plait is not worth keeping and slowly pulls out the hair tie. It hurts, she's had this plait in since they left afghan, but there's something about the sharp pain that feels nice- the perfect counterpoint to the waves of despair crashing into her stomach. She thinks back to their phone conversation- the tension in the café after her outburst had bordered on unbearable- wide eyes watching her as she sat, head buried in her hands. She had risen shakily to her feet, blindly grasping her kit bags before hauling them into the toilets at the far end of the service station. A desperate attempt to place some distance between her and that bloody coffee table where it all went wrong.

'You want any help with that?' some lad had asked, mid way through her journey. Distinct northern mummer in a crowd of babbling southerners. Hands outstretched like Smurfs had been on the first day in Afghan

'Not unless you want to follow me to the bog' she had countered, watery smile and red rimmed eyes. He had laughed at that, mouth creasing in mirth as a pinkie blush spread across both cheeks- his friends behind him cracking up at his misinformed show of chivalry.

She pulls her phone out of her pocket to glance down at the screen. There are no new messages, he's never been one for simmering down quickly- no matter how well trained he may be in matters of conflict. At home he would have slammed the door by now, his signature move in an argument when she's getting too much. They would simmer in separate rooms, flinching round each other for a few hours until one of them plucked up enough courage to apologise. But this distance makes it confusing, now they're reliant on I-phones and phone calls to patch up the misunderstanding and it doesn't really work. She dials his number- trembling hands pushing her phone next to her ear. Counting the endless shrill bleeps, the silence in between sending her stomach into riotous cartwheels. He's engaged- so she's clipped over to voicemail. That same message that she's heard well over 20 times this afternoon. She can't help but let out a low groan of frustration because really they need to stop communicating like this- it's not helpful to either of them.

' _Your through to Charles James'_ his voicemail says, warm tone but succinct in its delivery. _'Sorry you can't reach me right now. Leave me a message and I'll get back to you. Cheers'_

The high pitched bleep sounds and then suddenly she's on and she has no idea what to say, Words don't appear to be bubbling out as she hoped they would.

' _Charles'_ she starts, voice battling against the slamming doors of the toilets, a noise she hopes he can't hear as it's not one of the most classy places to have a conversation. _'Hey- It's me. I just wanted to apologise for…For snapping at you?'_ and her voice is a question because he snapped back so apologising doesn't really work. _'Please give me a ring back when you get this'_ And then _s_ he hangs up, slipping her phone into the top of her kit bag because she already can't stand the suspense of whether or not he will ring back.

She sits in silence for a while, eyes reading and re-reading the advert on the back of the door, words blurring into one inconceivable mess. She's dimly aware of two voices having a conversation, words just audible over the low hum of the hand dryer and she's forced into eavesdropping by her situation.

'She was being unreasonable' the first voice says, in an accent which isn't a million miles from her own- vowels twanging out across the white floor 'I told her, he wouldn't like her telling him how it was and look where it got her'. A sharp pain sears through her head and she's suddenly feeling unbelievably hot again- hands reaching up to pull pointlessly at her combats as if she can somehow force air down to her clammy skin.

'Get a grip Dawse' she mummers to herself as she pushes up her sleeves- because believing that other people's conversations actually have some relevance to your life is probably the second stage of madness, loving Charles being the first.

She starts to pull off her combats then- fingers moving quickly across the fabric that's started to mould to her very skin. Scrabbling to pull off the garments that are her uniform, her life and her identity. In one swift tug she's pulled off her jacket to reveal the brown regulation T-shirt that's hidden underneath. The same top she's stolen out of Charles kit bag- the smooth fabric pooling down to her mid thighs when she puts them on for bed. She quickly unlaces her boots- fingers working methodically down the sand blasted leather to pull out her socks and as each garment is removed and crumpled on the floor she feels marginally better. Her chest slowly gulping in the recycled oxygen that's hanging in the stagnant air of the toilets. She unzips her bag, enjoying the cool of the rumbling air conditioning on her bare skin as she searches for her casual clothes. Glancing down she notices she's wearing a functional black sports bra with a pair of lace blue knickers- an utterly incongruous match at the best of times. Ironically- they're one of the matching pairs he bought her for Christmas this year- a gift she hadn't been particularly impressed with at the time.

' _Pants?' she had asked incredulously 'You really bought me knickers for Christmas?' A statement which had quickly made Charles father scuttle from the room under the pretence of getting some more logs._

' _You never buy any for yourself' he had countered, 'so I thought I'd get you some nice ones'_

' _I've got nice ones' she had protested, to which he had stolen his hand down the front of her skinny jeans to twang the fully functional elastic of her current pair against her rapidly warming skin. A completely inappropriate gesture in his parent's' living room, even if it was empty._

' _They're from ASDA' he confirmed_

' _I ain't fussy' she had grinned back at him, slowly edging away- because even then, she had known that it all got a bit dangerous when he looked at her like that._

' _Ah but I am Dawsey' he had winked back at her, 'and I know for a fact your arse is going to look-'_

 _His mother had bustled into the room at that point, hands gripping a mountain of mice pies- Sam towing obediently behind. He didn't need to finish though; his suggestive grin said it all._

She pulls on her skinny jeans, pushing him from her mind and ignoring how the blue lace compliments the golden blush of her tanned legs as he probably knew it would. Hands reaching down to slip back on her army boots because she's only got flip flops from their time in Cyprus and she doesn't fancy getting out her bright pink toenails in this crappy weather. She feels herself start to calm as the familiar scent of home fabric conditioner washes over her and she reaches up to pull on her women's rugby jumper, mud freckling across one of the sleeves from the last army Vs Navy match.

Minutes later she's stuffing her worn army kit back into her bag, shifting it onto her shoulder and barging out of the stall. Bag slamming against the narrow frame even though she tries to be careful. Glancing into the mirror she briefly considers sorting out her chaotic hair and strained face but she keeps walking, she doesn't know where she's going next- feet marching unceasingly out of the toilets and back into the main thoroughfare of the services. Crowds of people starting to mill about at the McDonalds counter now it's hitting dinner time. In theory she should be hungry, but food is the furthest thing from her mind as she skirts past the restaurants onto one of the empty seats near the exit to the carpark.

It's all gone to pot between them and she's not surprised. They've been gagging for an argument throughout the last month, his responses to her on skype becoming increasingly terse as they spoke on video chat. That line on his forehead appearing more and more frequently as he narrowed his eyes at everything she said. It's one of those bits of army life that no one gives you training in, how to stay happy when there's a billion miles between you- mentally and physically. She could do with lessons in 'How to smile instead of death glare when he mentions that Julie from school has invited him for yet another dinner party'. Especially recently, when he believes all the tactical invitations are friendly offerings- a point she's refuted many times because Julie eyes him up whenever he so much as walks across the playground.

Her hands gravitate back to her phone- that tangible connection to him that she has to keep alive, no matter how irate he is going to be. She rings him again, his contact photo sending twangs of despair as she stares at his stupid face.

He picks up after the first ring,

'Thank god' he says, voice almost a gasp. 'I couldn't have lasted much longer' and she's flawed by that because she thought he hated her. Hell she hates herself for lashing out at him over something as stupid as a welcome home party.

'Please don't do that to me again' he continues after a moment. It's a phrase that he's used multiple times throughout their shared history. When she was reporting missing for 24 hours on her second tour, when she left his house at 2 in the morning to get the train back to London after a particularly nasty fight and again when she shouted 'wanker' at him across the parade ground on Fingers insistence- earning her a gruelling fitness punishment but £20 off each of the lads.

'Which bit?' she asks, because if their looking back critically over their time together this afternoon, there's a lot that could be improved.

'You suddenly stopped talking after you… apologised' he says, clearly unsure of what to call her garbled outburst 'I couldn't hear anything'

'I just needed some time'

'Watch it Dawse' he teases, though his voice is limp and shaky 'It sounds like your breaking up with me'

She's unable to reply to that because he's making light of a situation that still feels hot and raw. Too much was said, both in the words and in the spaces in-between to skip happily back into the sunset as if nothing happened. The silence continues and she realises that he's waiting on her to say something but her usual confidence has gone, knocked back into herself - she hears him swallow thickly.

' I see' she hears him say- though she's not sure what's left to see anymore, other than the bloody shambles they've both made of her coming home.

'I got your voicemail' he says, 'Sorry I didn't pick up, I was talking to your mum'

'Oh god' she protests

'She's pushed your welcome home party back to tomorrow night'

'I didn't expect you to do that 'she stammers, because she didn't mean for him to actually cancel.

'I know' he interrupts, 'but it was the right thing to do'

'Okay' she says pointlessly, utterly confused why he's being so helpful all of a sudden- when a minute ago it was too much to ask.

'She wasn't angry' he says, 'thought it would be better tomorrow night anyway, which I did try to tell her first time round'

Though he's brushing it off as a simple task, she can imagine the guilt trip that Belinda's sent him on. A lifetime of experience making her cringe at the impressive volley of swearwords she will have sent his way.

'I'm sorry' she says- 'for putting you in this position. I know what she's-'

'Molly' he tries to interrupt. 'It's me that should-'

They're both talking over each other., desperately attempting to make the other one understand.

'And I didn't mean to compare... ' Words are bubbling out before she can stop them 'What I mean is, I don't think of you as swanning…. And it's not your fault…You're not delayed on purpose because-'

'Molly' he finally shouts and she lapses into immediate silence, blushing vividly at her stupid gob. 'I'm sorry'

'No, I am' she counters and they both laugh awkwardly, because it's typical that they even turn apologies into a competition.

Silence lapses, she watches the queue of people at McDonalds- that tantalising smell wafting over her but eliciting no pangs of hunger, she's too far past that now. She still feels tense, wound up like a coiled spring and it's probably because an apology doesn't feel as genuine when it's uttered over the phone. Usually he would be holding her in his arms right now- his gentle breath fluttering over the top of her hair as he kisses her forehead. But her hands are empty- she clenches and then unclenches them

'Traffics pretty bad' he says pointlessly, 'been queuing for well over 10 minutes now'. She imagines him at the wheel- hands slapping restlessly on the faded leather of his land rover. 'Oh come on' she hears him yell, slamming the car horn with the same lack of mercy he always showed them during PT. 'How come no one can drive anymore?'

She pulls a non-committal shrug before realising he can't see her. 'Don't know' she mummers.

He exhales and its at this point that she realises that he's building up to something. There's a tenseness in his silence which doesn't add up, because they've already done the apologising part which always stresses them both out. If he was sat next to her now she would notice his leg jigging restlessly, eyes flashing across to her and she would beat him to it- as she does every time, slipping her hand in his to force out the words. But she cant see him so their all disjointed again- though she doesn't have to wait long.

'Look' he starts, 'I actually called because I've booked you into the Travelodge at the service station' he says, 'Saves you sitting about in Costa like a twat'

'Are you serious?' she asks, because there's nothing she would like better than to climb into bed right now – curl up in the foetal position and wipe away this day.

'Yes' he sounds unsure, 'There's no need to rush back to Bath now' he pauses. 'It's only for tonight- As long as that's okay with you?'

'Thank you' she stammers 'that's perfect.' and her face is finally creasing into a smile for the first time since she's got off that damned plane.

'Not a problem' he murmurs in reply.

'You're still coming?' she asks and there's a silence where he doesn't confirm yes or no- glossing over the question as if she's never asked it.

'Are you happy?' he asks instead, and it comes so quickly and from nowhere that it stalls her. It's the type of childish dig she had made often enough. 'Are you happy now you've got your own way?' she would to snap to her younger siblings. But his version is spoken in such a soft questioning voice that it throws her off guard.

'I guess' she stammers, 'I don't really understand'

He lets out a long breath before he replies. 'Because all I've ever wanted and I've told you this before is to make you happy. But I can't seem to do that Moll- not easily. It's always me that's pissing it up for both of us'

'Don't be stupid' she protests

'I'm not' he snaps back, 'I always seem to let you down'

Her brain draws a blank at what to say to his gross oversimplification of their relationship. It's so typical of Charles to blame it all on himself. Typical and frustrating because they both have an equal part to play when it's going brilliantly as well as when it goes to shit. It's like the shooting all over again- his adamant refusal to let her shoulder any of the blame, even though she's the one that kissed him back, asked him if he loved her in the middle of the Afghanistan desert and brought him those bloody coffee capsules back from London.

'We can't keep discussing this stuff on the phone' she says, because she's not sure how she's going to broach this particular subject without hurting them both.

'We don't have any choice' he grumbles in reply, and she can hear the tick of the indicator as he navigates a junction.

'Are you happy?' she asks, words spoken before she can force her curious mind into silence. Because she doesn't know how to tell him just how much he means to her using words from the English language.

'Of course' he murmurs, 'Jesus Molly, your everything' and there's a genuine warmth behind his words, that same promise of devotion that's always been there, though its sometimes forced into the background when they're operating on different time zones. She can't breathe- lungs inflating uselessly as she attempts to understand what it is he's just told her. Her brain can't seem to process correctly because she's never meant that much to anyone before and it's a combination of fear and elation that she's not used to.

'Really?' she asks, it's meant to be sarcastic to lighten the mood but it comes out all sensitive and limp- almost as if she's searching for his reassurance which she didn't realise she needed.

His humming silence conveys everything she could possibly need to know in just under a second and she hates that she can't see him right now because this is one of those brilliant moments in their relationship that she's going to remember forever.

'Are you still coming?' she repeats and he can't ignore it this time as there's nothing else for him to say.

'If you want me too' he says, voice low and heady- childish in its vulnerability,

She doesn't reply, crystalline tears leaking from her stupid eyes which are clearly faulty as she's used them so many times today.

'Molly?' he asks 'I can turn round right now if you want me to. There's nothing stopping-'

'Don't you dare' she mummers, heartbeat stammering so quickly she feels it might break 'Don't you sodding dare'


	3. Chapter 3

_Here is chapter 3 ! finally... Have to say I found this one very hard to write- was a struggle to get it right and even now im not 100% convinced. Thank you for all your support throughout the past few chapters- all your lovely words mean so much. Think this is the last chapter so I hope you enjoy._

* * *

Her phone vibrates – blaring up to wash the ceiling of the hotel room in a bright white glow. Instantly she's awake, the groggy hold of sleep snapping off her in a heartbeat. She's been waiting for over 2 hours, sprawled on the bed as she fades in and out of consciousness, her dreams so vivid that she's woken once or twice expecting to see him right beside her. The TV is murmuring in the background and she squints at is as she fishes for her phone- eyes vacantly regarding the moving pictures in disinterest as if she's round her nan's- forced in front of bargain hunt.

I'm outside' the text says and she's instantly scrambling across the duvet. Kicking her empty sandwich wrapper and water bottle off the bed as she does so. She scans the room for her shoes whilst shrugging into her jumper, hands grabbing her key card and phone from the bedside table.

'Coming' she tries to texts back, fingers slipping desperately over the screen as she scoops her kit into neat piles- he is her old CO after all. She scowls down at the cracked screen as she realises she's accidently pressed send before she's typed the 'n and the g' to leave 'Comi'.She considers writing it again but she's distracted by a sighting of her military boots- one tucked under the desk, the other stranded by the door and the next few minutes pass quickly as she stumbles around the room like a drunk, attempting to pull them on.

Her phone vibrates again- 'I'll come to you' he's written and she almost laughs because there's no way she's sitting in her hotel room waiting for him to arrive. She's already slipping softly down the corridor, slamming her door closed behind her as she breaks into a run.

'Watch it love' someone yells as she slaps past them, arm colliding with theirs as they unlock the door to their room. She yells a sorry over her shoulder, vision fading into a blur of red carpet and white walls as she picks up speed. She's gloriously happy, the anticipation of seeing him smacking her round the face like the cool air of the corridor- whistling past her as she lengthens her stride and she's crashing through into reception before she's realised. Door slamming back on its hinges with the force of her entrance. The night porter jumps visibly at the noise, eyes instantly narrowing in concern as he takes in her pyjamas and ruffled hair.

'You alright?' he asks, hastily minimising the Facebook tab that was clearly visible on his screen seconds before.

'Never better' she grins and she's crossing the sparse reception in a matter of strides. It's a temple of artificial lights and shiny floors- the gleam minimised only slightly by a collection of worn out chairs huddled in the corner.

His office chair scrapes back along the floor- 'Are you sure?' His voice is wary and deliberate, syllables drawn out slowly as if she's a small child. She catches sight of herself in the glass of the main door and she has to admit, even to herself, that she does looks marginally deranged. Its 11 o'clock at night and she's about to leave the Travelodge reception in her pyjamas. 'We can get you a taxi if you need' she hears him continue 'or room service? 'But he's silenced by the swish of the doors behind her, flicking him out of her thoughts in an instant.

Her boots smack over the pavement- long hair fluttering aimlessly in the cool breeze of the evening. From where she's stood she can see the motorway, an unceasing stream of lights roaring into the cold night air. Headlights peppering the horizon line- a volley of red, gold and white. It's nothing like the burnt oranges and terracotta shadows of Afghanistan but it's still beautiful. Wind teases round her bare legs as she stares and she instantly regrets not changing into her jeans- hands reaching down to pull her jumper over her spotty pyjama shorts. She steps off the curb, eyes scanning the crammed car park as she squeezes between a rundown Volvo and a motorbike to get a better view. It's hard to see anything clearly from here as the streetlights are flickering intermittently- snapping on and off at a night club like pace so she breaks into a jog - ducking and weaving between the cars in her attempt to see him, glancing over the number plates and bonnets as she goes.

And then her breath catches. His Land Rover is pulling in between a fancy Audi and a ford focus- wheels cricked awkwardly between the lines as he does when he's in a rush. The racing green is dappled into a murky grey in the half-light and she notices huge scuffs of mud flecked across the bonnet. Large splatters dried onto the metalwork which criss-cross from one end of the car to the other. She guesses he's been using it on the exercise today, accelerating across the vast Salisbury plains at a pace that doesn't bare thinking about, slamming over the tracks as he monitors his sections progress.

The headlights die and her stomach flips in glorious agony because the internal light is flicking on- a sharp contrast to the darkness surrounding his window. It's him, dark shadows sprawling across his face from the patchy overhead lighting, brown hair ruffled into chaos. He' s framed perfectly- a golden block of light in the dark carpark and she notices that he looks older, the dark green of his combats washing out the tan which had been so prominent last time she saw him. She watches as he pulls out the ignition, hand sliding across his face as if attempting to wipe off the miles he's just driven. The radio dies and the engine ceases but he doesn't move. Instead he sits for a moment- eyes staring vacantly towards the hotel. She's suddenly reminded of all the angry words that have passed between them since they last saw each other at Brize, piling up like the kilometres on his dashboard.

She waves half-heartedly before realising there's no way he can see her- it's too dark outside. She glances round self consciously, scanning up and down the crammed car park but she's all alone on the gum stained concrete. Her only company is a plastic wrapper which is scraping pointlessly along the tarmac behind her, pushed on unceasingly by the wind. There's a noise and his car door opens to reveal legs of camouflage green. He's still in his uniform, the dappled polyester hanging off his long limbs perfectly, furthering her belief that the British Army designed combats solely with Charles in mind. She reacts to him before she can pull herself together; warmth spreading slowly through her body even as a fresh gust of wind sends a smattering of goose bumps across her arms.

Something smacks onto the gravel just before he slams the door closed and he swears audibly.

'Fuck' he snaps, reaching down- his watch face refracting the light of the lamp post that he's parked near. 'Oh fucking hell'. She watches his face twist into anger, scrunching up in annoyance as his long fingers scramble across the tarmac. From where she's stood it looks like a blue box- suspiciously the same shade as the packaging of her favourite chocolate shop in Bath.

They had discovered it randomly on one of those endless weekends that seem to stretch on forever in a haze of sunshine. A tiny shop tucked away on some historic side street- he had called it 'quaint', grinning across at her as they both took yet another sample from the taster trays. She had fallen in love with their Swiss caramels, tiny sculpted swirls in milk chocolate.'I'll get you some when you're back from tour' he had said, 'so you come back to me' and though he was smiling there had been a glint of something in his eyes which had made her stare wide eyed back at him- confused.

It's a promise he probably wishes he had never made, as the chocolates in question are currently smashed into a sludgy mess on the floor. Her heart twists painfully as she watches him toss the broken box onto the passenger seat and slam the door, moving to the back seat to grab his kit bag- frustration clearly etched across his limbs. She moves then- feet desperate to close the distance between them so she can tease out the scowl from his strained muscles. He's locking the car; glancing back to check that it's actually secure before moving in her direction. His fingers tapping out a message on his phone. Her frozen muscles jerk into action, heavy boots thudding across the grey stone as she runs, hair flying behind her like a flag.

'Hey' she shouts before she can stop herself 'Charles' and his head jerks up, rapidly gazing round the abandoned carpark to determine the source of the noise. His eyes snap into hers and his face instantly creases into a smile- lips quirking upwards at the sight of her streaming across to him in her pyjama shorts.

'Molls' he laughs and he's letting go off his bag, arms reaching out as she's so close- a few stuttering heartbeats away. She doesn't even attempt to reduce her speed and as a result she thuds into him so fast that it verges on painful. Their limbs crashing together to elicit a slight groan from him though it's coupled with laughter. He's everywhere in a millisecond- strong arms lifting her to skim the bottom of her boots off the concrete, spinning her round so quickly the lights of the motorway blend into a neon blur. His fingers are splayed across her back, pushing her against him so tightly it's hard to breathe and her answering laugh comes out as an excited gulp of air. She can feel his heart thudding heavy under her fingertips and her own heartbeat rockets in response to him; to the fact he's this damned close again. She buries her face into his neck as he slowly sets her back down onto solid ground, eyes closed as she desperately attempts to commit this moment to her long term storage- slowly breathing in the scent of polos he chews when driving and the feeling of his skin against her own.

'God it's good to see you' she hears him mummer and she shudders. There's nothing like hearing his voice in the flesh- the way he slips out the syllables and super charges the silences in between. She feels him gently prise her away from him, hands sliding down the arms of her billowing jumper so he can look at her. He's drinking her in- gaze scanning across the planes and angles of her face and she's doing the same. She notices moisture pooling at the creases of his eyes and she reaches up before she can stop herself, fingertips tracing across his skin in the half-light.

'You're crying?' she asks, similar glinting tracks coursing down her own.

'Don't flatter yourself Dawse' he murmurs, moving to wipe them away but her fingers have interlaced with his own- tugging them to a halt. 'It's just an allergy'

'To me?' She scoffs

'Lack of you more like' he grins back, 'it's been a sodding lifetime' He reaches up to scoop a rouge curl of hair behind her ear. 'You been waiting long?'

She shakes her head quickly before her mouth reveals the truth. The image of him accidently throwing her welcome home present on the floor rears up in her mind's eye but she quashes it down, smiling warmly at him instead.

'I'm sorry it's later than I said' he continues looking down at his watch to pull a face. 'Traffic was bloody awful'

'You're here now' she murmurs and nothing else matters anymore- not when he's this close, this tangible. Her arms are winding round his neck, sliding across the smooth muscle before she can stop herself and he leans in as they've done so many times before. Slowly closing the distance between their erratic heartbeats

He hesitates.

It's only for half a millisecond- muscles bunching fractionally under her fingertips as they pause- face to face, his warm breath fanning across her skin. But it's still a hesitation. A minute slip in their usual routine and she's wrong footed instantly, eyes flickering open to stare wide eyed into his own. She swallows thickly and his gaze snaps to her throat- forehead creasing in confusion before he can help himself. He's breathing out as she breathes in and she focuses her mind on the movement because she doesn't know what else to do. Time seems to be passing slowly, the seconds spanning into a lifetime as they stare hopelessly at one another- both frozen as they wait patiently for the other to re-establish some sort of common ground. Her usual chatty gob has slipped into broken silence- words swimming uselessly round the corners of her mind and for once she is speechless.

After what feels like minutes he breaks- moving to press a light kiss on her forehead as if this was the action he intended all along. But they both know and are painfully aware of the moment that has just passed between them. She shivers.

'We should get inside' he says, reaching to drape his arm across her shoulders, tucking her into his side. She glances up to see him smiling, though his eyes are wide and dark under the lamppost glare and she nods, forcing the waves of panic from her mind as they turn together to walk back to reception.

* * *

'He was still drunk when we found him the next morning' she says smiling at the memory. 'turns out he'd stolen Captain Wainwrights beer rations thinking they were Mansfield's' Her stomach clenches in delight as he tips back his head in glorious laughter- that smile kick starting the mellow warmth which spreads down her spine.

'Typical Fingers' he murmurs and he's grinning across the room to her. Hand cupping his steaming mug of coffee as his eyes crease in delight, long legs resting on the desk that runs across the far side of the room. She's sat on the bed- legs crossed on the white duvet, holding her own mug. Tea with 1 sugar, though she's stirred in an extra one for good measure because she needs some energy to sort out the mess they've got themselves in. He had offered her a hot drink the minute they got back because that's just what he's like- his chivalry an automatic reflex even when he's the one that's been driving for the past few hours. It's strange because she'd never seen the appeal of hot drinks when she was younger but now it finally makes sense. It enables you to hold something, gives you something to do as you stare vacantly across the room at each other.

'Come sit' she says, taking courage from his laughter and patting the duvet next to her. He's so far away from her, granted she could cross the distance in 3 easy strides, but it still feels like miles. He shakes his head- gesturing at his coffee.

'Don't want to spill it' he says as if he's the clumsiest coffee drinker in the world even though she's never seen him spill a drop. She glances away- studying the framed pictures of flowers that are hanging near the window in an attempt to busy herself.

'How's work?' she asks. He blows across his coffee to cool it before he replies.

'Good thanks' and his words are guarded, smile slightly too strained. 'Brilliant I mean' he corrects seconds later and she notices that his gaze doesn't meet her own. She waits for him to elaborate, but the silence extends into seconds- clearly those are the only adjectives he's got for her. She watches him stretch gently, arms pushing through the still air to lengthen his cramped muscles and a strip of tanned muscle appears as his T-shirt rides up. She looks away blushing, a completely irrational gesture as she's seen all of it before.

'You like your section?' she asks, forcing out the husky grate of desire from her tone 'Some good lads?'

He nods, 'and lasses' a perfectly innocent addition but it has her head clenching painfully before she can put a halt on her vivid imagination. 'They started out as a group of nightmares but they're a good lot, Think we should get there before Africa'

'Africa' she echoes.

'We leave in a month' he confirms.

''Oh' and she notices immediately how his right leg is beginning to move, shifting against the mahogany desk at a steady tempo. 'When where you going to tell me about that?' she asks- half joke, half question.

'It wasn't a secret' he replies- reaching up to rub his shoulder uncomfortably. 'We knew this was coming up'

'Did we?' He nods again and she's suddenly so sick of him bloody nodding like some sad broken toy that she nearly says something, forcing the words back in because snapping at him isn't going to help

'I had to go away at some point' he murmurs, 'It's not always going to be you leaving me'

'Do you really think I like leaving you?' she's snapped before she can help herself.

'Molly' he murmurs, voice pained and her breath catches in her throat. 'Please can we not do this? Not tonight'

She nods stiffly, trembling hands moving to place her mug on the bedside table, mind desperate to find another topic of conversation.

'How's home?' she asks- not that she really cares right now. He could tell her it's on fire and it wouldn't come anywhere near the panic that's currently shooting through her. She wanted them to be okay- had hoped that they could slip back into their relationship as if she'd never been away but clearly that's not possible. Not when she's sat opposite a monosyllabic version of Charles with sad eyes.

'It's quiet' he replies.

'Bit like this room then' but he doesn't seem to find that funny- mouth not smiling across at her as she hoped he would. 'I'm sorry' she adds after the silence drags on too long. 'That was meant to be a joke'.

'I know' he murmurs as he stares across at her helplessly. Exhaustion is pressing down on her from all sides now- not that she wants to sleep. She simply wants to climb under the duvet to hide away from the fractured present.

'I can't think of any more questions to ask you' she suddenly blurts, words spiralling out before she can swallow them back inside.

He half smiles at that- 'I can't seem to come up with the right words to answer them'. She nods pointlessly and they lapse back into silence, his fingers swiping round the rim of his mug in efficient circles. This conversation is clearly over and the silence isn't comfortable, it's stagnant and raw with misunderstanding and unspent words. It's like an alternative form of their first date, the one they never had- all halting looks and broken conversation and she suddenly finds she can't stop the words because this isn't them, it doesn't feel right.

'I'm worried that we can't relate to each other anymore' she blurts- that extra spoonful of sugar has clearly given her courage. He stares across at her- eyes wide as she breathlessly holds his gaze, slamming out the words that she's wanted to tell him for weeks. She watches him shift, long limbs unfolding as he climbs to his feet to reply.

'And I'm worried that you've changed on tour' he snaps back. 'I never wanted you to go' She flinches gently, the slam of his honesty hurting more than she thought it would. The terse skype calls of the last few weeks resurface in her mind and slowly they start to make sense- His reluctance to talk about Afghan, the long looks he would send her before they said goodbye- all obvious indications of how much he had been struggling yet they had never said a word to each other.

'I don't want you to go to Africa' she says, forcing her voice into calm as sobs batter helplessly inside her. '1 month isn't enough time'

'We never seem to have enough time' he murmurs and she agrees with that, slipping off the bed to move haltingly in front of him- legs trembling in abject fear as he stares down at her. This is a new side of their relationship, overflowing with honesty which is brutal but somehow beautiful at the same time.

'That's because you're always late. Like today' and she tries to smile but the reference is too raw and real. 'The army comes before everything- even me and you'

'That's not true' he protests before he can help himself. 'I bought you chocolate- missed parade and everything so I could get those caramel swirls that you like, that I promised I'd get you' her chest tightens at that; it's such a lovely but uncharacteristically Charles thing to do.

He clears his throat, 'Though I messed that up- I dropped them all over the fucking car park'. His eyes narrow in anger at the memory, hands scraping through his hair with a force that must hurt.

'I saw' she replies, because if they're doing the whole honesty thing she might as well tell him the truth.

'On a scale of one to ten how much of a prat did I look?' and he's forcing his voice into humour, clearly unsure of what to else to say as they stare pointlessly at each other in the low light of the bedroom.

'At least an 8' and he laughs haltingly- nothing like the glorious snap of joy from earlier but it's a good start. 'It was a lovely thought' she continues stepping closer to him- but his hands jerk up indicating for her to pause.

'Wait' he starts 'Just before… before' and he trails off clearly unsure of how to articulate the words. 'I need to know because you never tell me, not in words anyway. Are you happy Molls? Together I mean'

'You've already asked me this' she mumbles and her hands still reach for his own as if gentle pressure on her behalf can wash these thoughts out his mind.

'You never answered'

'I can't find the words' she whispers and it's true. Her slender grasp of English doesn't have the adjectives required to express to him how she feels. She's never been good at this- emotion. She can't seem to get the words to sound genuine. They come out all mangled and pointless, nothing like how it is in films. She watches in despair as his forehead creases in frustration as he moves to untangle himself from her- cool air slipping across her knuckles.

'It's just' he continues, and his forehead is creasing as if he's in a agony, it's like he's been shot all over again. 'I'm worried that you don't love me anymore'

Sharp pain crashes through her thin form with such intensity that she gasps audibly. Her heart is accelerating to twice its normal speed as she stares back at him, mouth slightly ajar as if he's just slapped her round the face. It feels like her chest might break because she doesn't know how they got like this. How they've managed to start hiding their emotions and concerns from each other as if they are dirty thoughts. How did they start questioning their attraction for each other ? an attraction which seems to be obvious to everyone but themselves.

And this time its him asking her if she loves him- a position she's never been in before. She can finally understand why he had stared at her so blankly and for so long on that fateful day, both of their guns trained on the white of the sheet as it fluttered in the wind. The stakes are unbelievably high when your the one that's being asked and she swallows slowly- trying to force down the pain.

'I-'she starts and then trails off because his gaze is so intense, blistering even, that she can't think. She forces herself to take a shuddering breath but it doesn't do anything- she feels just as broken as before.

'Forget it' he murmurs softly and he's slipping away from her again- but she shakes her head in disagreement, forcing him to stay stood in front of her- forcing him to stay in her life.

'You terrify me.' She says before she can stop herself- words unravelling into chaos as she knew they would. 'You're like… Like GCSE maths- all formulas and equations that I can't get my nut round.'

'I haven't finished' she says, as he opens his mouth to protest. 'I've always run away from things like that- stuff I can't do. But with you I actually want to try- because…. Well- somehow. Your sort of seem to make everything right.' The words sound lame and she cringes, wincing as if in pain but she forces herself onwards, his dark gaze never leaving her own. 'I'm happy- whenever we're together, even if we're doing nothing at all. And I love you. So sodding much that it scares me sometimes because I've never needed anyone as much as I need you'

He doesn't say anything after that, still watching and waiting and as the silence drags on her blush deepens. Wrong footed with what to do next, she lets out a huff of frustration.

'That's all I've got Shakespeare' she says, fighting the urge to snap 'told you so' as this is what she warned him would happen. 'Can't do any better than that I'm afraid'

'You still love me?' he asks and he's shifting back towards her, pupils widening as he waits for her absolute confirmation of her feelings. She nods and silence presses around her, shrinking the room so it's just the two of them held in space.

'Do you love me?' she hears herself ask, as this conversation has been remarkably one sided for the past few moments, devoid of any expression of his own feelings for her.

He moves then- it's as if her words have shocked him into action and he's reaching for her, slamming through the space between them as if she's about to disappear. He knocks the breath from her body as his lips crash into her own and she almost stumbles. Almost but not quite as his arms have wrapped around her, slipping under her T-shirt to rest on the small of her back. Fingers splaying across her hips to tug her closer. The anticipation of this moment has lasted for well over 6 months and her head spins, mind reeling at the fact they've finally made it to here. They may not be able to communicate well, voices halting and unsteady in the half light of the Travelodge but when he's kissing her like this she doesn't need that confirmation. He's showing her just how desperately he's missed her, lips slamming apology after apology against her mouth, hands trailing 'I love you' against her hot skin. She reaches up to run her hands over his shoulders before she can stop herself- trailing along his collarbone with her fingertips as his lips slam into hers- hot and heavy. Then he's pushing her gently backwards so that the backs of her knees brush against the edge of the bed and She's tugging at his T-shirt in response, hands desperate to see that same tanned strip of skin that he had inadvertently revealed to her earlier. She smiles against his lips as he tugs it over his head and within seconds her cold hands are tracing over his chest. He feels different- his muscles clearer and stronger from the last time they were together. His fingertips are pulling at her own pyjama top, head dipping to stretch back the material around her neck so he can press his mouth to her skin- teeth nipping gently at the sensitive area.

'This isn't fair' she gasps as he moves along her neck, crushing kisses into her skin. 'You haven't answered my question'. Though she can probably make a wild guess right now at what his answer would be as he pushes her back so she's sat on the bed; his hands sliding down her thighs

'I'm not playing fair Dawse' she hears him murmur into her skin and he's pulling at her lip with his teeth, walking the thin line between pleasure and pain. And even though he's doing things to her aching body that she's only been able to imagine for the last few months- she somehow manages pulls away from him, slipping out of his arms before he's realised, grinning wickedly at him as she shuffles across the duvet to the other side of the bed. She's just had to make a prize prat of herself, stumbling in her attempt to make it right between them- he deserves to suffer as well.

'Molly' he groans, head tipping back in despair- accelerated breaths pooling out from his bare chest into the hot hotel room as he stares hopelessly across at her. 'Don't do this to me'.

'I'm waiting' she murmurs 'you can't just ravish me when you want me to shut up'. He raises an eyebrow at that and she has to try remarkably hard to conceal the shudders of desire that spiral down her body. His dark eyes are fixing her own with that familiar stare of adoration and it feels like she's left her body on the other side of the room as her head spins painfully, craving his touch on her.

'Get your arse over here' he mock scowls, reaching out across the crumpled duvet to pull her back to him but she slips further out of his reach, moving to stand with her back against the far wall.

'Charming' she quips, 'and here I was expecting some poetic declaration of love. You know you're standards have really slipped Captain James' and she loves saying that, lips snapping out his last name like he used to hers.

'You're such a tease'

'What of it?' she grins back. 'Got to love a bit of blackmail now and then'

'Well its really not working' he says crossing his arms as he used to do in Afghan when she was pratting around and she raises an eyebrow in response because two can play that game.

'Really?' she questions and with that she's fiddling with the hem of her Top, peeling it off her shoulder to reveal her red bar strap. He closes his eyes but only for a heartbeat, flicking them open again as if he can't look away. She pulls the top over head in a flourish.

'Dawse' he groans,'Play fair'. His fingertips are tapping on his bicep as he stares across at her, the tension in his posture suggesting that he's not quite as indifferent as he's trying to make out.

'Don't mind me' she says, moving to push down her shorts, material shifting softly down her legs. 'You know I actually think I might go have a shower, It's getting awfully hot in here' His eyes never leave her legs, tracing the route of the fabric shorts as they pool onto the floor. She steps out of them, revealing the lace blue of her knickers and he swallows thickly- sucking in his breath. She moves to remove them as well but pauses at last minute, hands pulling at the elastic but not moving them anywhere. He lets out a low groan in frustration before he can stop himself.

'Sucker' she laughs, because the look of agony on his face is just too brilliant.

'That's it' he snaps in reply and he's moving towards her so quickly he nearly captures her. But she's slipping across the carpet, somehow managing to dodge his grasp near the desk by doubling back on herself in a shortcut over the bed. She streaks towards the door as he moves towards her again but he's too quick for her, grabbing her waist and spinning her with such force that he loses his footing. In a blur of bare skin they crash down on the carpet- limbs flailing as painfully as they did in the carpark. She lands on him, head smacking into his torso and she watches him wince with the force of the impact. She's letting out a yell before she can stop herself, his chest rising and falling against her own.

'You fucking idiot' she groans, lifting herself up so she can look at him- his eyelashes trembling open and closed as he blinks.

'I have carpet burn' he winces and her hands move quickly to the red marks across his shoulders in concern. 'You can't get mad at the injured'

'But you can get mad at the idiotic' she counters, critical eye assuring herself that he's okay. She moves to roll off him but his hands hold her still- muscles pulled into pause by his trailing fingertips.

'Molly' he murmurs and he's staring into her eyes, lips millimetres from her own

'Charles' she giggles and he quirks up an eyebrow at the fact she finds everything so bloody funny. There is a silence, but it's no longer jarring and awkward- it feels different to before, it washes over her warm skin instead of slamming into her brain. She watches his hands move up to trace softly across her mouth with his thumb, pressing into the swollen skin of her lips and he starts to speak but she dips her head to softly capture his mouth with his own.

'I already know' she murmurs and he's pulling her down to his side as their lips meet again- Soft and questioning this time round as she winds herself against him. 'I've always known'


End file.
